


Top of the Food Chain

by Ias



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Bondage, F/F, Interrogation, Knifeplay, who am I what happened to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 10:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3932728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ias/pseuds/Ias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All in all, there were worse situations to be in. Probably. There had to be. Because if this was the absolute worst thing to happen to any Kingsman agent ever, that would mean that Agent Lancelot was in a very bad spot. But then again, being tied to a chair with a woman with knives instead of feet sitting across from her could hardly be anything but.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Top of the Food Chain

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote 90% of this at 2am, but then woke up and wrote the final 10% in the cold hard light of reason and therefore have no excuse ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Being zip-tied to a chair was a lot less comfortable than it looked. Roxy had wormed her way out of bungee cords, hemp rope, and even a hastily-utilized extension cable. But this was her first time with zip ties, and as it turned out, the plastic was murder on your circulation. Not to mention the fact that being strapped down to a chair rarely boded well for how comfortable you could expect to be in the near future, but that was a different story. And that story focused very sharply on the woman sitting in a chair in front of her.

All in all, there were worse situations to be in. Probably. There had to be. Because if this was the absolute worst thing to happen to any Kingsman agent ever, that would mean that Agent Lancelot was in a very bad spot. But then again, being tied to a chair with a woman with knives instead of feet sitting across from her could hardly be anything but.

And that was a fact that merited repeating, because _her feet were made of knives_ and that was definitely not in the job description. But to be fair, this job never came with a description; it came with a body-bag, and a promise.

Roxy couldn’t help but stare at them now. The woman sat with one leg resting jauntily over her other knee, placing her prosthetics in clear display. They curved out of the cuff of her pants, silver and scythe-like, and Roxy also couldn’t help but wonder how many people those blades had killed, how many agents—but that kind of thinking wasn’t helpful. In fact, it was exactly that kind of thinking that had gotten her in this situation in the first place.

The mission had seemingly been a simple one, but they all started out that way. Roxy had already succeeded in neutralizing the enemy agents and powering down the explosives in the hydraulic dam they were planning on collapsing—and really, she had thought those sorts of mustache-twirling supervillain-plans were a thing of Hollywood, but these were the times. She was just about ready to call for extraction when her glasses feed cut out entirely. And then, the strange metallic rasp tapping down the hallway, drawing ever closer.

They had fought—Roxy had lost. And here she was. Tied to a chair. Possibly about to be stabbed and kicked to death at the exact same time. Well, there were worse ways to go. Maybe.

The woman tilted her head as she watched Roxy from the narrow space between them. She hadn’t spoken in a while—Roxy almost wished she would get it over with, start asking the questions and slicing off body parts to try and get her to talk. Pain she could handle. There was something about the silence that set her teeth on edge, or maybe it was the way that the woman was eyeing her like she was a prime cut of steak ready to be cut into.

Eggsy had mentioned this woman before. As Roxy understood it, she had killed Roxy’s predecessor. She went by the code name ‘Gazelle’ as far as Roxy could remember, and she was also supposed to be dead. But their team hadn’t recovered her body in its initial sweep of Valentine’s compound, and that was basically a guarantee she was going to pop up again sometime. People just couldn’t stay dead these days. No consideration.

At last, Gazelle spoke. “I’ve know everything about you,” she murmured, her voice low and satisfied. “Your ‘King Arthur’ was only too eager to rat on his fellow agents. Will you break so easily?” As far as openers went, Roxy had heard better. She merely shrugged noncommittally, wondering whether dying during a mediocre interrogation was worse somehow.

When she received no reply, Gazelle smirked. “You know, the whole ‘knights of the round table’ thing is a little ridiculous. I mean, ‘Lancelot’? Seriously?” She leaned back, cocking an eyebrow. “You can’t try and tell me that makes you feel good about yourself.”

She was gloating. Roxy could use that. She knew how to survive an interrogation. Keep talking. Bond with your captors. And above all, _reveal nothing_. Besides, at least her code name wasn’t just a fancy word for a deer.

So she responded with a weak half-grin of her own, her eyes remaining steely in her face. “I don’t know. I thought it was kind of cool.”

“Maybe that says a lot about you.”

“I thought you already knew everything about me.”

Gazelle paused. “Do you really think now is the best time to get cheeky?”

“Can’t help it. I’m a clown under pressure.” In truth, Roxy’s heart was just about ready to hammer itself out of her ribcage and save Gazelle the trouble of killing her. But as they speak she was carefully stretching against her restraints, testing the limits of her mobility. As it turned out, she had none. There’d be no worming out of this one.

Gazelle sat back, her legs sliding against each other with a rustle of fabric, a deadly click as her other foot settled to the floor. When they had fought she had been a whirlwind, all movement spinning with no central point. Now she was still, practically motionless, and that was more terrifying than feeling the edge of her blades slice past her cheek.

 “It’s ironic,” she mused as she threw an arm over the back of her chair and sank into a position that was deceptively relaxed. “I killed the other Lancelot. I wonder what I should do with you?”

“Is this the part where I mockingly suggest you let me go?” Out of her peripheral vision Roxy scanned her immediate area, looking for something sharp she might be able to somehow pull towards her, get into her hand—there was nothing except the pair of knives at the end of the other woman’s slim legs.

Gazelle noticed her gaze, shifted her position so that the light glinted off of her deadly appendages. “It’s rude to stare.”

“It’s also rude to tie people to chairs.” Roxy was just about to mentally celebrate her third one-liner in a row when a blur of silver movement came arcing up to her cheek, and suddenly something very cold and very sharp was being held against the delicate skin under her eye.

Roxy froze, a faint yelp smothered in her throat. Gazelle was still seated, her expression neutral, one leg extended so the tip of her blade gently pressed into Roxy’s face. There was no tremble in her muscles at all, even as the seconds dragged on slow as molasses and the blade didn’t so much as twitch. “That’s enough of that.”

Roxy struggled not to swallow past her dry throat, wondering if any motion would break the skin. Even holding her leg at an angle that would have given Roxy cramps for a week, Gazelle didn’t even seem to be breaking a sweat. That was probably a good thing. A muscle spasm would be very bad news.

Eventually the silence dragged on longer than Roxy could take, the weight of the woman’s gaze eating into her like acid. “Aren’t you going to ask me any questions?”

With a carefully controlled motion, Gazelle moved the tip of her blade down Roxy’s cheek, travelling around the line of her jaw to settle just under her chin. “Why bother?” she asked. “I know where your operations are based, the names of all your current agents. I could take you all apart if I wanted to.”

“Then why haven’t you?” The words scarcely ghosted out of Roxy’s mouth for fear of moving her jaw. She could hardly breathe. Before long, her head was beginning to swim.

Gazelle seemed to enjoy the position she had her in—her smile grew a little wider. “Because no one has paid me to do so yet.” The pressure on Roxy’s throat eased up ever so slightly. It was all she could do not to gasp for air.

“What do you want from me?” The question slipped out before Roxy could think the better of it.

Gazelle said nothing. Instead, her eyes travelled down Roxy’s form in a way that was absolutely impossible not to notice. “That’s a nice suit,” she said. “It’s a big deal for you people, right? ‘Your suit of armor’, isn’t it?”

Roxy’s jaw clenched in spite of herself. The woman’s smile grew a sharper edge.

As quick as lightning her leg swiped down, drawing a sharp line of pain from the hollow of Roxy’s throat to the top of her belt. Gazelle’s foot comes to rest back on the floor with a self-satisfied click as Roxy’s suite fell open, sliced cleanly through jacket, shirt, and everything underneath to reveal a two-inch strip of skin where the clothing had peeled away. Roxy could feel the faint line of blood beading against her skin where the blade had drawn just a little too close to flesh. Gazelle’s eyes followed her handiwork, her smirk turning wicked.

“So much for your armor.”

Roxy resisted the urge to shift positions and try and cover herself. Her fingers tightened on the arms of the chair, nerves tingling from the lack of blood. This was just an intimidation technique. Trying to make her feel vulnerable, exposed—but they’d covered that in training, and it wasn’t her open shirt that made her breathing stay shallow. It was the way the other woman was looking at her, the glint in her eyes that made something twist in Roxy’s stomach. She couldn’t help but think about the first time she’d taken her clothes off in front of someone, sitting in her basement drinking wine coolers instead of going to prom, how her skin had prickled the exact same way—she drove the thought out. She needed to focus on the mission, on staying alive.

Gazelle raised an eyebrow, her head turned slightly to the side. “Nothing to say, Kingsman? Have you run out of catchphrases?”

Roxy licked her bone-dry lips before she spoke, the motion drawing Gazelle’s eye. “I didn’t want to ruin this with words.”

There was something completely unnatural about how quickly the other woman could move, how one moment Gazelle could be sitting in front of her looking as if all she needed was a cocktail in her hand—and the next she could be on her knees, crowded into Roxy’s space, her dark eyes dangerously close. Every muscle in Roxy’s body tensed; she ought to be relieved that those deadly legs were folded neatly away, yet as Gazelle’s hands gently slid from her knees to the middle of her thighs she was finding it very, very hard to relax.

“What I want from you is simple,” Gazelle breathed, and Roxy was absolutely not leaning in to catch the faint echo of those words, was not paying attention to the little circles Gazelle was drawing with the pads of the thumbs on the inside of Roxy’s thighs. She was focused. She was an agent. She was definitely not glancing at Gazelle’s lips.

With no hurry at all, Gazelle raised one of her hands to the hollow of Roxy’s throat, finding the break in the skin and following it down, tracing the path that her blades had cut. Her eyes darted from the faint line of blood back to Roxy’s face, taking in her expression. Roxy’s breath caught in her throat as Gazelle’s fingertips trailed down between her breasts, wondering what would happen next, whether she even cared. Just about the only thing she was sure of right now was that this was not how interrogations were supposed to go.

“I want you to hold still,” Gazelle murmured. Her hand trailed down Roxy’s stomach, gliding over her belly button to stop at her belt. Roxy bit the inside of her cheek. Keeping her face blank was nearly impossible.

From somewhere far away, there was the sound of breaking glass. Gazelle’s head snapped up, the exultant smile slipping off her face. Roxy’s heart could hardly beat any faster, but when she listened very carefully she could faintly hear the sound of running feet growing closer and closer.

Gazelle turned back to her, a sour expression on her face. “Looks like your transmission made it out after all,” she said. Any hope Roxy had dared to feel immediately evaporated. How quickly could Gazelle spin around and bury one of those knives in her forehead? Just like the last Lancelot.

But instead, Gazelle merely smiled that sly smile again, her grin on Roxy’s leg tightening. “We’ll see each other again,” she murmured. “That’s just how these things work. But until then—“

A second later Gazelle’s hand closed over Roxy’s belt buckle and yanked her hips as far forward as the restraints would let them go, dragging her even closer into Gazelle’s space. Their lips crushed together, clumsy and almost painful at first, but then Gazelle was pressing into her in all the right ways and Roxy wasn’t even pulling back, wasn’t even questioning the way she parted her lips for the other woman’s tongue, wasn’t even thinking about the imminent rescue party coming closer with every passing second.

The kiss broke as quickly as it had come together, leaving Roxy short of breath and aching in ways she couldn’t really address right now. Gazelle’s eyes raked over her like they were devouring her whole. “Just a little something to remember me by.”

Roxy’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. There was supposed to be a clever remark here, a final jab to put them back on an even footing. Roxy had nothing. She could still taste the other woman on her lips. That wasn’t making her thoughts come any easier.

Tossing her head back, Gazelle laughed. In a moment she was on her feet, already backing away, light sliding off the knives like a wink. She smoothed her hair down, let her eyes wandered over Roxy one last time. The sound of footsteps was almost upon them. “Until next time, Lancelot.” With a grinding of metal she broke into a sprint, darting off down the hallway in the opposite direction from the sound of approaching feet.

Roxy had hardly caught her breath back when the door burst open, revealing Eggsy with a full team at his back. As soon as he saw her relief crossed his features, until he saw the state of her clothes and the line of blood down her chest. He immediately gestured for the rest of the team to fan out, hurrying over with a knife already in his hand.

“Are you alright?” The moment he cut her wrists free she started rubbing the abused skin, pulling her bisected jacket tighter around her.

“I’m fine,” she said with a faint laugh. “Just ran into a friend of yours.”

“A friend of mine?” Eggy frowned as he finished cutting away the restraints on Roxy’s ankles.

“In a manner of speaking. You might remember her very sharp footwear.”

Realization dawned on Eggy’s face. “Gazelle did this?” His eyes dipped down to take in Roxy’s slashed clothing with a new hint of meaning. “What exactly _did_ she do?” When he met Roxy’s eyes again he looked as if a question were on his lips, but instead he leaned forward and squinted dubiously at Roxy’s face. “…Are you… blushing?”

“Absolutely not,” Roxy snapped, crossing her arms over her chest and staggering to her feet.  “Can we please get out of this damp hellhole? I’d like to get some feeling back into my toes sometime this week.”

“Right,” Eggsy said, stepping aside to let her stride past him into the hallway. “The exit’s the other way,” he called out at her back. Roxy stopped, gritted her teeth, and turned around. Eggsy was watching her with a slightly bemused smile, his eyebrows raised.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he said. “I remember that Gazelle chick being pretty…intense.”

“She wasn’t so bad,” Roxy managed. “A pushover, really. I’d take her again any day. Not _take_ her, I mean—not that way, I merely meant, I would be happy to, to face her. In the field of battle. That sort of thing.” Well, that was that. She could practically feel the disbelieving glee radiating off of Eggsy with every passing second. Oh, she was going to get _hell_ for this one.

Instead of looking at him, she jabbed an elbow into his ribs before he could comment. “You’re going to lend me a shirt,” she said. “We’re going back to the base. And I’m going to go lie down for a while.”

“Do you want a sock too? To put over the door handle?” Eggsy asked, his sweet tone of voice competing with a shit-eating grin.

“Stuff it,” Roxy muttered. If she was blushing again, Eggsy knew better than to comment on it. 


End file.
